


all your DREAMS in vending machines

by starryeyedfool



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Dystopia, Gen, Other, Supernatural element, sort of open ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-23 23:53:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21089894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starryeyedfool/pseuds/starryeyedfool
Summary: In a city full of uniformity and lack of life, Jongdae likes to savor the color that he can see.He will find the sweetness on his tongue to be everything he wants, and the danger most exciting.





	all your DREAMS in vending machines

**Author's Note:**

> All right. This is unbeta'd, so I apologize for any mistakes you find--- the pacing is kind of rushed. 
> 
> Lowkey, I do not like this fic very much LOL
> 
> [side note] title is inspired by OPI nail polish, Tokyo collection.
> 
> ## monsterfest '19 [10/19]

Police sirens scream from somewhere deep in the city. The light rain purls down cement walls and through rusted drain pipes, making puddles that reflect outdated neon signs and the more common LED lights; some flicker and pop with a hum from neglect. It’s night, but not even the rats will come out when everything is so freshly soaked.

Just the sound of the pitter-patter of rain. Rain on dumpster lids. Rain on old cars. The sound of water is even louder in the dark.

Jongdae’s sneakers plod along the glistening street between crammed, boxy buildings, some indiscernible from the next and as dead-looking as every other. He learned to discern them by the illegal graffiti on their alleyway walls, first. But for his building, luckily, the reinforced door is sheltered by a pop of color. The small, green, rounded awning overhead.

That’s it. The only green, the only color on the block. The city is taking action in covering up the graffiti all over so, really, he feels quite lucky to have the landmark. 

He’s close to the door now, ready to head up to his unit. But he pauses, just for a split second, eyes glancing over to the alley by his building, blocked off by a chain-link fence and completely unlit. He was always curious about it, but more so over what’s in it. His landlord likes to collect old, unwanted vending machines that he ends up dumping outside beside the building to be subjected to the elements.

But then again, that is part of their point.

Jongdae punches the code into the electronic padlock, enters, and runs up to his apartment on the fourth floor.

+

“Did you know---” Baekhyun starts up, rice flying out of his mouth, “oops,” he says as he takes his chopsticks to pick up the fine morsels to eat, “---that there is absolutely no record of the Fujiwaras getting married, or ever being married?”

“Okay?” Jongdae says with a barely-contained, disgusted curl to his mouth. “That’s weird.”

“Yeah,” Baekhyun replies, only to stop and choke on his food. He coughs and thumps his chest. “It was actually pretty--  _ ahm _ \-- freaky. I mean, to have no record? They  _ are _ married, right?”

Jongdae sets his bowl down and sighs. “I am very uninterested in this subject.”

“Come on,” Baekhyun gloats, grinning, “You have a thing for the missus. I just  _ know _ it.”

“No,” Jongdae says firmly. “Correction:  _ you _ have a thing for the lady. You’re just using me as some sort of projection so you can satisfy your obsession without being tied to it.” Jongdae points directly at his friend and stares him straight on. “Now  _ that’s _ just weird.”

Baekhyun huffs and turns away, hunching down to hide behind the bowl of rice in his hand. “Well, Mr. Psychologist, I refuse to say how close to home you hit. In fact I’m going to say you missed it. Out of bounds. Wow, that’s too bad. Anyway, up next is a new topic, I love puppies. Okay, your turn.” He points both index fingers at his friend.

“Eat your food,” Jongdae scolds, shoveling rice into his mouth. “I’ll order more sake.”

They leave the restaurant late into the night with the sun completely gone, partly stumbling as they hold onto each other’s shoulders while Baekhyun drunkenly sings a sloppy rendition of a Korean pop song from some girl group. 

“Can we go to--  _ hic _ \-- your place…?” Baekhyun manages to slur out. “I don’t want to… bother my roommate so--  _ hic _ \-- late.”

“Maybe if you drink some water,” Jongdae relents, his words betraying his exhaustion.

“You--  _ hic _ \-- got it, chief…”

Baekhyun stops in his tracks, halting Jongdae in the process, and makes a motion as if he’ll throw up. Except it’s just a really loud, wet burp, but Jongdae already looks ready to run a mile away.

“That was... rank…” Baekhyun mutters, straightening up and exhaling with a  _ whoo _ .

Jongdae, with a grimace, says, “You’re telling me.”

The izakaya alley they left is just a fifteen minute walk from Jongdae’s building, the streets in between sparsely-lighted enough so that the men can see where they’re taking their steps. Yet Baekhyun still kicks a trash can by accident and Jongdae tries not to curse at the racket. 

“Watch out,” Jongdae hisses.

“Sorry…”

The building with the green overhang comes into view a minute later, almost not soon enough, what with Baekhyun being on the verge of collapsing on the side of the street despite not being that inebriated. He’s just the type. A man with an affinity for dramatics.

“Home sweet home,” Baekhyun coos.

Jongdae scoffs, “You don’t live here.”

“Aw, don’t be so upset about it…” Baekhyun cozies up to Jongdae, face full-on smug and shoulder rubbing against the other’s.

“I’m duct taping your mouth if you keep this up.” 

“Oo, I love it when you get all aggro on me…”

“I’m never playing League with you ever again.”

They crawl their way up to Jongdae’s overly-modest apartment which consists of a mattress, a futon, and a barely functioning television. Baekhyun flops facedown onto the futon, and Jongdae goes to get some water.

“You know, you should get a coffee table…” Baekhyun mumbles, face squished against the furniture with his lips puckered out like a goldfish. “I’ll get one for your birthday.”

“I think that’s a bit expensive for you.”

Baekhyun lifts his head up, sporting a very sad look. “But you gotta have one. You just gotta.”

Jongdae snorts and says, “Sure.”

They watch cartoons until some ungodly hour of the night, which is surprising with how alcohol is supposed to be a depressant. Still, Baekhyun passes out first, leaving Jongdae to himself, and therefore his thoughts. He gets up and lays Baekhyun down fully onto the futon. Someone has to take the bed and it’s going to be the one paying the rent.

Except, when he turns off the television and lets the room shift into darkness, he pauses. There’s a ringing in his ears.

It’s not the kind of ringing that only happens when all is quiet, the kind people can tune out and ignore by going to sleep. It’s persistent. 

Jongdae shakes his head and musses up his hair. He needs a shower and some fresh air.

After a quick wash, he feels more energized and slips on a coat, leaving the apartment. The stairwell is lit dimly at night. It’s unnerving. Especially that one particular, flickering light on the third floor that hums and pops. But better that than pitch black.

Once he’s outside, the crisp air gives him a shock that has him more awake than before. Jongdae’s not sure if that’s a good thing. Bewilderment begins to set in. It’s past midnight, he should be bone-tired, and deep down he knows he truly is, so what is he doing outside?

He squats against the wall beside the door. There is not a soul in sight nor any sound of life aside from Jongdae, sitting, not even thinking, maybe not even breathing. He feels like he’s waiting for something.

There are only four street lights within view. Jongdae watches them, seeking the light. And then one blinks out.

Then another, and another… Jongdae follows the trail of dying lights with trepidation until the last one is left.

He holds his breath. 

From the shadows, appearing like an apparition, a black dog slinks into the stream of light under the last light post, its thin, sinewy form hinting at something dangerous. The dog stops and stands tall. It’s looking at Jongdae.

The eyes are more yellow than the light from the street lamps, brighter, like molten gold, gold that wants to burn.

It lowers its head, like it’s sizing Jongdae up, ears forward as if it has nothing to fear because  _ it _ is what should be feared. The dog takes a step towards him. Jongdae can’t get up. He's pinned by something he can't see.

But a voice rings through the night. “ _ Hey _ .”

The dog startles, turns and runs, disappearing into the dark.

Jongdae finally exhales, hand on his chest as he tries to catch his breath from what felt like the last moment of his life.

Someone clicks their tongue. “Bad dog,” they chide.

This time, Jongdae startles out of his skin and falls onto his ass. He looks up to find a man leaning back on the wall, watching ahead, mouth working on a lollipop. Without looking, the man reaches into a pocket on his champagne pink bomber and whips out another candy. He twirls it in his hand and offers it to Jongdae, not even facing him. When Jongdae makes no move to accept the candy, the man looks down. His eyes are vibrant, bold streaks of violet and blue; electric. 

Sick lenses, Jongdae thinks.

The man shakes the candy. “Come on,” he says. “It’s citrus.”

Jongdae, tentative, takes it and stands up. 

“There ya’ go.” He takes out his lollipop and smacks his lips, then crunches on the candy, tossing away the stick. “Hey.” The Candy Man shoves his hands into his pockets and leans forward. “You wanna see somethin’ cool?” He’s tall enough that Jongdae has to take a step back. It feels like an intimidation game. Tall people, he thinks with spite.

Jongdae frowns. “Who are you?”

“ _ Ha _ , someone you’re gonna love in about a minute, now follow me.” Candy Man heads towards the chain link fence on the side of Jongdae’s building and climbs over it effortlessly, landing on his feet like some hot shot guy. 

Jongdae stares at him from the other side, offended. “Am I supposed to do that, too?”

“What. You can’t?” 

“Uh. No.”

Candy Man sighs. “That’s disappointing.” He flips open the fence lock on his side to let Jongdae in.

Jongdae goes where the man leads him which is towards the hoard of neglected vending machines, even more sad and dilapidated-looking at night, covered in rainwater. They stop in front of one that Jongdae can’t quite make out the image of with all the darkness. 

“My name’s Sehun, by the way,” says Candy Man. 

“Jongdae. And I’ve been calling you Candy Man in my head this whole time.”

“Well. I am pretty sweet, huh?”

Jongdae almost laughs but chokes it back because he doesn’t want to feed this guy’s potential ego. “Yeah… I’m sure you’re just full of sugar.”

Sehun chuffs, genuinely amused. “Funny one. Anyway,” he gestures to the broken down machine in front of him, “welcome to my club.”

Confused, Jongdae squints, waiting for his eyesight to adjust so he can see a little better. He even blinks a few times for good measure… but it’s just a rundown vending machine among other rundown vending machines. “I don’t follow.”

“What do you mean?” Sehun frowns. “My club. Door’s right there. Let’s check it out? Hang out and whatever?”

Okay, first of all, they don’t know each other that well, and second of all, “I don’t see a door.”

“What?” Sehun says, shocked if his face gave anything away. “You… don’t see it. Are you sure? It’s right there, neon sign above it and everything.”

Nervousness pricks at Jongdae’s neck as the situation begins to settle in his head. “No.” Candy Man seems to be loose in all the screws. Maybe he has a knife and this is all some crazy plan to take Jongdae’s life. Yeah, that must be it. He should leave.

Jongdae lets out a weak laugh, regrettably transparent, as he starts to back away. “Look, I don’t know what you’re on but…”

Sehun flounders at the implied accusation. “You think I’m high? Seriously? No _ , _ I---” He stops as if he’s realized something. “Wait. Hey. Eat the candy.”

The grip around the lollipop loosens as Jongdae brings it up to view. “Eat this?” He thinks he’d rather chuck it and run, instead.

“Trust me when I say that I need you to just eat. The goddamn. Candy.” Sehun starts approaching Jongdae in a manner that scared the shit out of him because Sehun is a very big man and could easily overpower his much smaller self. 

Jongdae makes quick, nervous glances behind him, cursing because Sehun locked the gate while he was unaware. It wasn’t a simple latch, either. He’s positive that if he tried to make a break for it, Sehun would catch him.

“Look,” he pleads, “I really don’t want any trouble. Please let me go.”

Sehun takes the lollipop from Jongdae’s hand and points it at his face. “If you eat the candy.”

It’s probably poisoned. Maybe it’s a knock-out kind of drug that makes people kidnap-able. “I really don’t want to,” Jongdae says pitifully. He doesn’t want to die there in a shitty alleyway with his insides harvested and his corpse unfitting for an open-casket funeral.

“Do I have to force feed you?” Sehun scoffs. He unwraps the candy. Sehun is close enough to grab Jongdae’s arm, surprisingly not as forceful as expected, pulling Jongdae closer. “Come here,” he says.

Jongdae should be screaming bloody murder and fighting his way out, but somehow he isn’t terrified enough run. Or maybe he’s frozen from terror. Again, he can’t tell. His brain is short-circuiting.

There’s a hand at the back of Jongdae’s neck, almost gentle. Jongdae doesn’t notice the round candy slip past his lips. Despite the situation, it tasted really good. Citrusy. A lot like candied oranges. Jongdae doesn’t even think to immediately spit it all out.

Sehun is suddenly bathed in colorful lights, Jongdae notices. Lights that weren’t there before. Is he having a trip? Maybe the candy was psychedelic drug. Jongdae certainly doesn’t feel any different, maybe mesmerized, but he’s seeing different as the world is somehow painted in more colors than he’s ever experienced, and it’s startlingly beautiful, almost overwhelmingly surreal.

Jongdae leans to the side so he can look behind Sehun. Lights of all types and colors randomly dot the high walls of the alley, now made of reddish brick instead of the dull, smooth cement he’s used to. He turns to look behind him and even the fence is different. The chain link is now a stylish barred gate, dark and wrought iron with decorative ivy tendrils. The streetlights are back on and splashing the now-cobbled road with purples, oranges, pinks. 

“What the fuck,” Jongdae whispers.

“You see it, now, don’t you?” Sehun asks. “The other side.”

“If you mean the other side of sanity,” Jongdae says in a shaken, sort of haunted, voice. “I’ve lost my mind.” None of this was explainable.

Sehun hums, nose scrunched as he observes. “Yeah, the transition is always hard for you guys, but mostly just the first time.”

“What…?” Jongdae says emptily, his eyes a little distant and unfocused. 

“Yeah, you look like you’re about to faint so let’s get you stimulated, hm?” Sehun takes Jongdae’s shoulder to guide him and, oh,  _ there’s _ the door with the neon sign above it and everything. The closer they get, the better Jongdae can hear the muffled sounds of music. 

+

The club is underneath Jongdae’s building.

“Sehun, your new friend’s pretty spaced out.” The woman lifts her iridescent drink to her lips and sucks on the straw with the glossiest red lips. 

“I thought he would’ve adjusted by now,” Sehun shrugs, slurping on something fizzy and purple with blue foam. It smells strongly of passion fruit. “Not sure what to do.”

Jongdae is sitting at the bar, surrounded by thumping bass that he can feel in his chest and flashing lights--- so much  _ color _ \--- unordinary people, and that one, single, sweet scent permeating the air. He has to check his hands to see if he has a drink because surely he’s intoxicated. He feels too light.

“I don’t think the stuff you pumped into the system is helping the guy,” another man voices, sliding up behind Sehun to settle between him and the woman. 

“I didn’t even add anything,” Sehun argued. “Besides, it never does  _ this _ to people.”

“Yeah, you always use duds. It’s why no one ever has fun here.”

Sehun scowls. “Then you can go and escort yourself out the door, have fun somewhere else.”

“You don’t actually want me to leave,” the man says, voice full of mirth and an arrogant quirk to his lips. 

“Please, Junmyeon. You think too highly of yourself,” the woman scoffs. She turns to Jongdae and snaps in front of his face. “Hey there. What’s your name?”

“... Jongdae,” he manages to answer, blinking confusedly. The woman makes a face like she didn’t catch his words. “Jongdae,” he says louder, more lively.

“Well heya, Jongdae. My name’s Irene,” she introduces, offering a hand for Jongdae to shake, albeit weak. She doesn’t seem to take offense. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m dreaming,” Jongdae admits, looking around like he’s seeing the club for the first time. He can’t believe his eyes, no matter how many times he tries. The current song ends and the melody of a piano begins, creating a sudden change in the atmosphere. Each key rings loud, clear and perfect. Piano with a beat.

“Oh, I love this track,” Irene sings. She takes Junmyeon’s hand and twirls him in tune.

The people in the club keep dancing, as if the change in music makes no difference and the mood persists.

“I thought this was a club?” Jongdae wonders aloud.

“Yeah,” Sehun confirms. “What made you question it?”

“This isn’t club music…” Jongdae says. The melody is rushed like it has somewhere to be and it’s running out of time, the beat and the synth running alongside it.

Irene offers him an odd look, as if Jongdae said something strange. “Sehun, where’d you pick this guy up?”

“Outside,” Sehun says. “Went out for a pop and he was being stalked by a hound.”

“Oh,” Junmyeon exclaims. “A hound near here? Did they put out a warning?”

“Can’t say,” Sehun admits, taking a sip of his drink. “I chased it off before it could mark Jongdae.”

“You’re lucky he was marked before,” Irene adds, facing Jongdae. “He wouldn’t have been able to help you if he wasn’t.” Her hand touches his shoulder, as if she was concerned. “Can’t see them unless they want you to, usually.”

“I don’t understand,” Jongdae says, staring at her hand. The skin of her arm glitters in the shifting colors of the club’s lights. “The dog wanted to mark me?”

Irene and Junmyeon watch him with wide eyes like they can’t believe Jongdae could say such a thing, much less speak at all.

“What?” Irene practically barks. She quickly looks to Sehun who’s avoiding eye contact. “Is something… wrong with him?” she demands. “Was he raised in a damn basement?”

“Uh, not exactly… we might have to take this to a back room.” The drink in his hand empties with one last draw and he sends the cup sliding down the table.

+

It’s much quieter in the room where they bring Jongdae, the noises muffled by the door, sound barely reaching his ears where he idles by the steam diffuser, the scent relaxing, vapors cooling his skin. He doesn’t hear them talk, but when he turns to see what the others are up to, he finds them all staring at him, two in disbelief, one sort of proud. 

“I don’t believe it,” Irene whispers, but it’s loud, somehow amplified.

“Jongdae,” Junmyeon calls. “Do you understand that you’re not supposed to exist?”

Jongdae blinks. “Ouch,” he says in earnest, hand to his chest. What a blow to his self-esteem.

“No, it’s not like that,” Sehun starts to say. “What he meant is you only exist in stories.”

Junmyeon laughs, shaking his head. “More like in one myth.”

“People used to talk about how someone like you showed up once and it set everything off.” Sehun gestures for Jongdae to head their way where they can all be seated together. “But that’s it. It’s a story no one can prove.”

Jongdae holds both hands up for silence. “First of all,” Jongdae stresses, “someone like me? Who do you think I am?”

“Now you’re finally asking real questions. I thought you didn’t have a mind to think with,” Sehun jests, slapping Jongdae’s back, his ridiculously long arms giving him more kick. “But to answer your question, you’re a phenomena.”

“And everyone wants power over a phenomena,” Junmyeon says, eyes glinting. Jongdae notices that they’re marigold yellow.

“Is it just me or did that sound sinister for a second,” Irene mutters with a side-eyed glance at her friend. “What, you want to put him in your pocket like a collectible?”

“If no one else, then the Consortium will.”

Everyone seems to react to that statement, an air of unease filling up the room. Irene looks at Jongdae. “Assuming that you know nothing about this place, you should know that the few with power want everything, dead or alive, no matter what it’s made of. Whether it’s even worth anything.” She sighs through her nose. “They’d put us in pens if they could have it their way.”

“I think that’s a bit dramatic,” Sehun counters. “They have the power. If they wanted that, they’d have done it already.”

“I think it’s a slow game to them,” Junmyeon surmises. He crosses his legs and leans back, somewhat serious. “It’ll happen in time.”

Jongdae goes to interrupt, but a chill freezes his words in place. He breathes out, the breath faintly visible. He touches his hand to his face, feels just how cold they are, how his ears feel bitten by a breeze. His clothes are damp. 

“Sehun,” Jongdae tries to say, looking at him, waiting for Sehun to turn and ask what he needed. Because he’s his guest, and they’re probably friends now. But the next time Jongdae blinks, he opens his eyes to cement walls, a black sky, white LED lights that work perfectly fine. If he looks to his right, that’s where the dog would be, and to his left is where he first saw Sehun.

The street is empty, deader than the sewer rat drowned by the rain. 

Jongdae blows into his hands, trying to ease the numbness that he feels all the way down to his bones. Exhaustion takes him back in a wave. 

+

When Jongdae wakes up the next morning, he finds Baekhyun scavenging his cabinets and when his friend finds what he wants, his head tosses back like he’s taking a shot. 

Painkillers, Jongdae thinks. “Bring that here,” he croaks. His throat feels dry.

They have a quick meal together consisting of fried eggs, bread and tea. Jongdae sends his friend on his way, well past noon on a weekend day. He finishes waving Baekhyun off and goes to let the door shut, but pauses, and steps out to look up. The once green awning is gone, the discoloration on the cement and the drill holes being the only indications of it ever existing. 

Now, when it rains, Jongdae stands under the pouring sky while he fishes for his keys. He occasionally doubts if he’s at the right building as they start to look more and more the same. The city begins to seize his landlord’s junk, one hoarded machine at a time. The sector is going through a cleanse as the streets become visibly more sterile.

He keeps spending his Friday nights with Baekhyun, watching his friend get drunk while he holds back in case he ends up having another fever dream without even going to bed first. He hasn’t talked about the last one. Most of it faded into vague recollections, like dreams usually do. 

Sometimes he sees that dog when it’s dark. Before he closes his eyes to sleep, something in the shadows might move. He'll see yellow in his peripheral, his body rendered immobile, and he’ll wonder if it’s sleep paralysis, if he should look up the symptoms and treatments at some point. But he doesn't, always forgets. 

One night, Jongdae is shaken awake, a quiet voice calling to him. “Hey,” it says. “Get up.”

Jongdae groans, confused, trying to remember if he brought Baekhyun home with him. It’s a Saturday night, he remembers. Baekhyun only sleeps over on Friday nights after drinking, and that was last night. Jongdae spent the evening alone. His mind races.

It must show how tense he is, because the voice says, “Relax. You remember me? Sehun.”

Sehun?

Jongdae squints into the dark, his eyes quickly adjusting. He sees a familiar, large figure at the side of his bed with a somewhat familiar outline of a jacket and an also familiar silhouette of up-styled hair. 

Sehun… where has he heard that before?

“You ghosted us at the club. Literally vanished. A jerk move, but I’ll give you a pass and chalk it up to your phenomena ordeal.”

Oh shit. It’s  _ Candy Man _ .

“You’re not real,” Jongdae says, then hisses, “paralysis demon.” He realizes he’s not exactly paralized, but he won’t admit to that. 

“Not quite,” Sehun comments drily. “Okay, time to get up.”

“It’s dark out. I’m trying to  _ sleep _ ,” Jongdae argues in resistance. “Please leave.”

“Can’t do that, friend. My city doesn’t sleep, and we have a raid to block.”

“We?” Jongdae groans, rolling over in his bed to cocoon himself. “What does that have to do with me? Your world’s not my world.”

“Well, you’re here, aren’t you?” Jongdae’s eyes have adjusted well to the dark, and he can see Sehun’s features more clearly, now. Sehun pulls out a knife, twirling it as he hands it to Jongdae. “And you might like to know that your building's the first hit.”

Jongdae gapes. “You said what now?” 

Sehun smiles, sort of devious, all too handsome. “Welcome to the fight, my friend. They’ve found you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, the ending is kind of open. I hate those types of endings but this is the best I could do for the deadline. I think it's the first time I've turned something in without needing an extension. Wow. I'm so proud of me. Good job, me. If in the future I come back to this and have renewed inspiration juice for this fic, I might write a "sequel" or a "chap 2" or revamp and make it longer. I'm not sure! Anyways, hope you liked it. Comments make me happy so say whatever you want (but nicely...)! xoxo


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